March 27, 2009

Almost

My woods are brown still, filled with dead leaves and broken sticks and trees that crashed down under the weight of ice this winter. As I walked the trails this week, I could smell the mud. Some puddles had just the thinnest layer of ice, not even thick enough to make a noise as I stomped through in my boots. The only green I could see was moss: brilliant mosses on old stumps and logs, on any surface raised about the suffocating layer of dead leaves.

But spring is coming. Last night, when the rain stopped, I opened my bedroom window a crack and music came in with a gust of cold air. The spring peepers are singing.